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southern-god1 · 1 year

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The Pale Rider

“And I looked and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.”

Revelations 6:8

The motorcycle rolled toward the bar, the headlight piercing the dark like a searchlight. The radio played an old song from the 1940s, “Dream A Little Dream of Me”, and the rider hummed along. The sleek pale green motorcycle slid to a halt, the music died, and gravel crunched under the rider’s boots as he walked to the door. He strode into the bar and took a seat at the counter, flagging down the bartender.

“Sazerac, with absinthe if you’ve got it, and Peyhcard’s bitters.”

His voice had a distinctive accent, something which drew the attention of the man beside him: a thin but cute local named Eric. Eric tried to look at the stranger without drawing too much attention: he was quite tall, handsome, and pleasingly scruffy. He wore a pair of jeans that showed off his ass and a pair of nice boots.

Taking a sip of his Sazerac, the stranger ‘s intense green eyes flicked over to glance at him through the corner of his eyes, as though feeling Eric’s gaze. He turned to face him, drink in hand.

“See something ya like, ma chere?”

The strangers accent clearly marked him as a New Orleanian, and he smiled. Eric’s palms got sweaty, and he nervously nodded.

“Um…uh, yeah. W-we don’t many people who can speak French in here.”

The stranger chuckled.

“Well now you have. What’s your name, you precious little thing?”

Eric’s cheeks turned beet red.

“I’m Eric, who are you?”

“My name is Rhett, ma chere. Rhett Delacroix, humbly at your service.”

He offered a mock bow, as best he could from the barstool, which made Eric laugh.

“Are you from New Orleans?”

Rhett’s response was sarcastic.

“Your certainly quick on the uptake. What gave me away? The accent? The French? Or my smoldering sex appeal? But yes, I am, my little snow bunny.”

Eric was immediately confused.

“Snow bunny?”

“It’s what we call those of you from up north. Think of it as a term of endearment.”

“What brings you up this way my…swamp gator?”

Rhett laughed aloud, amused by the awkward attempt at making an equivalent phrase.

“Ha-ha! I’m here on business. I know a guy, who knows a guy, who has something I want to buy. But enough about that…I’d like to get to know you better, my cute little snow bunny…can I buy you a drink?”

Cute? Eric beamed inside. Hot guys like Rhett hardly ever looked his way, let alone called him cute or offered to buy him a drink. He agreed.

After a few more drinks, Rhett suggested they go somewhere more private. Eric was too smitten -and slightly drunk- to disagree. Rhett headed toward his motorcycle, only for Eric to frown and complain that there was nowhere for him to sit. Rhett sighed and hopped in Eric’s car. It was a tight fit, and Rhett insisted on driving.

“But you don’t know where I live.”

“I know. We ain’t going where you live.”

“What?”

“Calm down little snow bunny - I told ya, I know a guy. Got me a nice motel room up the road."

Rhett set off driving, quickly changing the radio station from the news to the local country station. He drove until they reached a seedy motel, where Rhett was supposedly staying. He actually wasn’t, but Eric didn’t need to know that. He spied a vacant room, and with a quick, effortless little application of power, had conjured a skeleton key and unlocked it.

“Get on the bed and undress. I’ll be right there…”

Eric eagerly began to strip as Rhett strode into the bathroom. Rhett Delacroix, codename “Pale Rider" gazed at himself in the mirror for a moment, mentally preparing for what was about to happen. Fucking a snow bunny was hardly fun, but maybe this one would be different. He was looking forward to what was going to happen afterward more than the sex, in any case.

By the time he had pissed and washed up, Eric had already undressed and was posing in what he mistakenly assumed was a sexy pose. Rhett smirked and decided to assert himself as the one in charge of this little encounter. He growled out.

“Turn around. Your ass is mine.”

Eric seemed pleased by this dominant turn…that was good, since there was more of that to come. Rhett peeled off his jeans and boxers, tossing his shirt off onto a lamp, but left his boots on. In a flash, he was on top of Eric.

“Now, my little snow bunny…. you’ve never been with a real man before. This’ll probably hurt.”

He grinned and without further ado, began to mercilessly fuck Eric’s tight ass with his 9-inch cock. His scruffy chin rubbed against the back of Eric’s chin, his ear. Eric was clearly in pain, but also clearly enjoying this, moaning in a mix of pain and pleasure. Rhett could sense his little fuckbuddy was already getting close. Damn this boy was pent up…and tight. He grinned and began to fuck harder, getting closer himself. He grinned and began to whisper in Eric’s ear.

“You love this don’t you? You like being used by a real man? Do you wanna feel this way every day? Give yourself up to me. Everything. Your love. Your soul. Your heart. Every. Fucking. Thing. Will you do that, my little snow bunny?”

He punctuated every period with another hard thrust, and he smirked as Eric let out a cry that was halfway between a cry and a yes, and came, staining the sheets with his cum. That was close enough to a yes for Rhett, and he came as well, filling Eric’s tight ass with a load of his hot, salty Southern cum. He immediately pulled out of Eric’s ass. He snapped his fingers and immediately he was clean and fully clothed again. Eric stared in confusion as he turned out, still groaning in the hazy afterglow of sex.

Eric was confused. How was Rhett dressed already. That was so fast.

“L-leaving already?”

“Yes, but don’t worry…we aren’t about to part ways just yet.”

Because Eric could ask what he meant, Rhett’s eyes - so briefly it must have been a trick of the light- flashed a blood red, a stainless white, and a brilliant blue, before returning to their normal color. His hand was doing something complex, rapidly moving. Eric was instantly frozen. He couldn’t move or make a sound. An intense heat began to build up in his chest, rapidly enveloping his entire body. Then he saw the knife in Rhett’s hand, something intricate and bearing strange icons engraved on the blade. Eric frantically screamed, but his screams only bounced around inside his skull.

“Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna kill ya…I’m hardly The Axeman, not like some of my friends who enjoy killing y’all. I think that’s pretty stupid. Waste of a good soul. No no, I’m just gonna extract and bind your soul. Now…just like I said before…this’ll probably hurt.”

With a smirk, Rhett strode around to behind Eric and with a single, obviously practiced motion, slit both of his carotids. Yet no blood flowed out, as it normally would. Eric felt something leave his body, and seemingly hover before Rhett - but he still felt his body, dimly.

Rhett’s eyes flashed again and with a few more hand gestures, Eric’s soul began to compress and thin out, becoming powdery, wrapped up in a white and brown bit of paper. Rhett reached out and let the cigarette fall into his waiting palm. Eric could see all this happening, feel himself hitting the warm palm, being plucked up by two fingers. With a smile, Rhett reached into his back pocket and pulled out an engraved cigarette case and tucked Eric in with several others. These were not just cigarettes -at least not the kind one casually smoked; if he wanted a smoke, he had a pack in his other pocket. No, these were special. Rhett’s more complex spells and magic sometimes required souls, or sacrifices. Quite simply, Yankees weren’t always around when you needed them, and the cleanup after a sacrifice was…just so tedious. By trapping their souls as cigarettes and smoking them into oblivion whenever a soul was needed, he bypassed the need for a direct sacrifice. Now…to deal with the body.

Despite being sealed in the darkness of the cigarette case, Eric still had a connection to his body, however faintly. He still felt the intense heat, still filling every inch of his body. Eric felt himself start to shrink, dimly seeing the hunky New Orleans stud seemingly grow bigger. His body began to feel strange. His tongue shot out, stretching over his head and turning brown, as his hair, stretched over his outstretched tongue, became long and stringy, tipped with little plastic aglets. Within seconds, his face began to flatten out, and his body began to contort, painfully, bones snapping before being remade. Everything grew dark, and he felt Rhett’s strong hands grab him and give a strong tug, yanking some part of him apart.

Rhett reached down and yanked the newly formed pair of boots apart, tearing apart the thin layer of leather still connecting the two new boots. He pulled them on and tied the laces that used to be Eric’s hair, his tongue now the tongue of the boots. He grinned and rubbed his foot into his face, now the sole. He took his first steps and Eric practically exploded in pain and pleasure; almost as though he was being fucked again. Rhett had offered to let him feel like that every day, and the two had agreed to a verbal contract. Rhett was a man of his word. He was especially happy he had tricked the Yankee into signing away his own soul. He strode out of the motel room, and with a snap of his fingers, erased any DNA or fingerprints, locking the door again and evaporating the cum. There was the roar of an engine as his motorcycle rolled up into the parking lot by itself.

Let’s see…DNA, fingerprints, cum…ah yes, the snow bunny’s stupid smart car was the only thing left to destroy. As he strode over to his bike, his eyes flashed as he casually shrank Eric’s smart car down to the size of a toy. He hopped on his bike and made sure to drive over the puny car, the bike tire completely obliterating it as he drove off. Rhett felt Eric vibrating with pleasure as he drove, and grinned. This had been a good night. Another soul cigarette ready for when he needed it, and a new pair of boots. He began to drive south. He had a party to get to; a fellow stud from New Orleans named Alexandre Frost was throwing a party and Rhett would rather hang than miss one of those parties. Maybe he’d call the rest of the team to make a surprise appearance, really make the party memorable. For now, he flicked on the radio and was pleased to hear Elvis. Heartbreak Hotel played softly as the Pale Rider headed south, vanishing into the night.

My first attempt at a story with the Southern Avengers! I decided to focus on Pale Rider, the team magician and occultist. He keeps Yankee souls in cigarettes as a convenient way of having souls ready for sacrificing at any time; though he's not averse to slitting a throat. I was going to include some more Lovecraftian influences, but I felt madness didn't exactly pair well with this story, which focuses on seduction and manipulation. Also a lot less direct domination here.

Frost, refrerenced at the end of the story, is one of the characters used by @idesofrevolution; he's an excellent TFer who helped me make Rhett a bit more authentic as a person from New Orleans; he introduced me to some stuff like "snow bunny" being used rather than Yankee. Go check out his stuff! Also, the Axeman is not a team member of the Southern Avengers, he's a New Orleans serial killer from 1918 who loved jazz. I figured I'd toss in another nod to New Orleans history while I was at it.

Hope y'all like it! I hope to potentially explore more of Rhett and his teammates later on! Comments and feedback are always appreciated.

#inanimate tf #southern avengers #pale rider #story

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